oh my god he really is a playboy

This is my mom's financial advisor, Mary. I know who you think it is. It isn't. This woman's name is Mary.

Mary the financial advisor came to our house the other day. She's an attractive blond lady with long hair and bangs, and Finn was like, Ka-DOING! She was in our dining room with my mom, and Finn was glued to the safety gate next to her like a tiny Stanley Kowalski calling, MARY! MARY!

After she left, a subscription card fell out of an Us Weekly with Reese Witherspoon on it, in all her lemony Golden Global splendor. Finn carries it around now, and murmurs to it wistfully. Mary, he says. Oh, Mary. (He really says "Oh, Mary".) Dave and I follow him around doing Jimmy Stewart impersonations. Ah, Mary! Whydja leave me, Mary?!

Also, he points to her chest and says, BOOB! And I can play that either one of two ways. If I slip and say, yes, she has boobs, if I use the word boob, he comes barreling over to point out that I, too, have boobs. If I just acknowledge it without saying the word, if I say, yes, that's true, then he just stands there happily.

He popped awake in the middle of the night last night and said "Mary."

While Reese Witherspoon is his favorite replacement Mary, any attractive blond lady in a magazine will do. Does my 14-month old son have a type? Today, though, we were at the University Village and a pretty brunette was behind us in line for sandwiches. He craned around to see her and said in the weird deep voice he uses for greetings and partings, "Hi."